


fanning sparks into flame

by cluelesspaladin



Series: We Built This Ship to Wreck [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Assassin Lance, Blowjobs, Grey Lotor, Lance is messed up and it's not his fault, Lancelot - Freeform, Lotor's emotionally stunted, M/M, Masturbation, Slightly dubious consent, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but they work it out, canon-divergent AU, in a roundabout way, it's basically kinky first time Lancelot sex, mentions of alien biology, some dirty talk but mostly Lance psychoanalyzing Lotor, some hurt/comfort referenced but nothing super obvious, they're perfect for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23024428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cluelesspaladin/pseuds/cluelesspaladin
Summary: Lance finds himself in too deep and risking far too much, too soon.Not that he should be risking his life for the sake of a dubious sexual arrangement in the first place, but hindsight is always 20/20, as they say.-Lotor gets laid. The Blue Shrike questions life. All in a day's work.
Relationships: Lance & Lotor (Voltron), Lance/Lotor
Series: We Built This Ship to Wreck [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642273
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	fanning sparks into flame

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: bellows
> 
> It's a pun that abscission couldn't resist and it now gets an honorary nod.

It takes several weeks for Lotor to make a decision regarding Lance’s… _offer_.

When it does happen, Lotor- in a surprising show of stealth- appears out of nowhere to pin Lance against the nearest wall during one of his in-between mission downtimes. If it could be called that. Usually it involved several hours of wandering the halls until Lotor caught wind that he was back on board, summoned him to the war room, and handed him his next assignment. Easy. Simple.

What isn’t so simple is the natural instinct to slip out of his perceived threat’s grip and slit their throat, but in an almost shameful way, Lance can tell that it’s Lotor simply due to the fact that he’s alone; not to mention he would be the only one on the ship capable of doing exactly what he _was_ doing at the moment.

Lance isn’t so naïve to wander around the command ship without his uniform and signature blue mask. Even more so without his weapons; the signature thin blades strapped to his thighs and tucked into subspace pockets in his boots, a second pair to his forearms.

The one no one sees is the high-tech custom build sniper rifle, tucked away in a secret sub-space pocket against his lower back and available at a quick touch.

As it is, however, Lance finds himself almost- dare he say it- relaxing into the hold as his face is pressed against the cool metal of the wall. One large, clawed hand is pressed between his shoulders; the other twisting his hand behind his back. If he were to move, he knows from experience that he’d get out of it with no less than three broken fingers, if not a broken wrist or arm.

“Prince.” He greets, mask distorting his tone. No sign of discomfort in his inflection. He’s been through worse than this- the princeling will have to work _much_ harder to pry any sound from his throat. 

“Shrike.” Lotor says into his ear. “I believe you proposed a… mutual exchange.”

“I did.” Lance agrees, allowing some of the rumbling tone to come forward. “Am I to assume you’re interested in taking me up on that offer?”

“And if I were?”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in Lotor’s words. A challenge. One that Lance could so very easily twist between his fingers and use to catch the prince into his own game. But… something in him rebels at the thought. Despite his best efforts, Lance has invested too much time in learning about the prince. Something of an obsession, one could say.

In the back of his mind, he can hear his trainer’s voice telling him that it’s not enough. That he’s both too far away and too close to the mark.

But Lotor isn’t a mark.

At least, he hasn’t given Lance a reason to make him one. Not yet.

“I would say that there is an abandoned room in your upper deck. I removed it from the floor-plan in case of this very reason. Assigned it to you for… _personal_ … reasons.” He says instead. It had been fun, fiddling in the inner workings of Lotor’s computer systems with no one the wiser.

“I will see you there.”

There’s no warning as pressure lifts from Lance’s limbs. By the time he’s straightened, the prince is already vanishing around the corner while the assassin allows himself a moment of disappointment. He’d almost been hoping to get some kind of reaction out of Lotor. Nonetheless, Lance knows the halls better than the prince by now- it takes him almost no time to weave through the ship and slip inside the aforementioned room.

It’s a couple minutes before Lotor appears. In the meantime, Lance reclines on the bed, toying with one of his thin blades in the dim light. He doesn’t bother sharpening them- it’s an effective intimidation tactic, but it would do nothing save ruin the already perfect edge he has on it.

His gaze flicks up momentarily as Lotor enters, locking the door behind him with his handprint. No one save Lance is authorized or able to override the prince’s authority. In this case, however, Lance finds little reason to desire anything to go sideways- not when it would lead to his identity being compromised.

(Not to mention the number of bodies he would have to drop in order to remain as anonymous as he is.)

It’s immediately clear that Lotor hadn’t thought past getting into the door; his body language turns wary as he takes in the dominant position Lance has already claimed for his own on the bed.

“Do come in, prince. I don’t bite unless you ask.” Lance purrs, slipping his knife back into its sheath. “And here I thought you were calling me here to have your wicked way.”

The words bolster Lotor’s confidence. The prince straightens minutely and stalks toward the bed, undoing the clasp of the thick jacket at his throat. He must have had some meeting or other with one of his diplomats; his usual flight suit had been discarded for his more formal uniform. It also happened to be much less armored in comparison to Lotor’s usual choice in attire, which meant that Lance would be able to put an end to anything out of line easier than he would if Lotor had worn anything else.

“Well? What now?” Lotor inquires, his tone carefully neutral. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, discomfort lining his frame like a living tension.

“Any number of things, I suppose.” Lance replies easily. “But I suspect you need something particular, don’t you? I could, of course, simply suck you off and leave it as that. But I suspect you’re looking for more than that, aren’t you?”

He can see that he’s hit a nerve. Given how much he’s been following the prince around, he even knows why it bothers him; Lotor dislikes that Lance is able to read him so well.

Refreshing, really.

It takes no effort at all to unbalance Lotor from his position so that he’s lying down, knees splayed out and supporting his weight on the floor as Lance slides overtop of him with sure movements. After several long moments of staring the other down, Lance sighs and reluctantly pulls his mask from his face. He doesn’t like the level of vulnerability it brings him to, but it seems to be enough to relax Lotor for the situation.

The ball is in Lotor’s court now.

One hand slides across the faintly patterned coat Lotor has yet to remove, rolling his hips into Lotor’s and watching the prince with careful, half lidded eyes. All of it a delicately crafted show, but it’s hard to deny that the friction builds easily as Lance works a slow rhythm. Arousal coils lowly in his belly despite himself- a low sound escapes him at the sensation. It’s rare he finds himself actually vaguely interested in intercourse with someone else; years of training rewired him to have a rather distanced relationship with his own want and desire.

He keeps that in mind as Lotor finally makes a move, twisting to pin Lance to the bed, pupils blown wide.

Rather, the prince _attempts_ to pin the assassin down.

Lance curls his lip upward and flips their positions with ease, straddling the prince’s waist and grinding down on the admittedly impressive erection he can feel under his ass. Lance has coupled with both Galra and Altean hybrids in the past, but this is the first he’ll have the opportunity to sample someone with both Altean and Galra heritage. His curiosity is piqued.

Lotor’s breath hitches, instinctively rutting up against Lance’s groin as he lets out a throaty sound.

“Undress.” Lotor commands from beneath him.

“Or I could leave you desperate and wanting.” Lance replies immediately. “You first.”

They both know the other is armed. Lance finds himself tense at the thought of leaving himself so vulnerable to the single person he shouldn’t be allowing so close to himself. On the other had, both of them stand to lose something should one of them violate the uneasy, unspoken treaty they have between them.

“Very well.”

Lotor peels off the first layer of fabric with some difficulty, still pinned by Lance’s weight. Not one to go back on his word, Lance undoes the clasp of the edge of his suit and peels it downward over his shoulders.

It’s silent in the room for several minutes as they carefully extract themselves out of their respective uniforms, leaving Lance with his flight suit bundled at his waist and Lotor with his pants around his calves. Despite being technically clothed, both of them are bare and uncomfortably exposed to the other.

Lance is uneasy- it isn’t often that he feels safe enough to be bare to the air, let alone someone else. But rather than focusing on that, he turns his attention to what he has to work with in terms of genitalia.

Lotor’s length is a soft violet compared to the rest of his skin, several ridges lining the flesh and the head already beginning to weep a pastel pink. No visible testicles- an evolutionary trait that most Galra nowadays seemed to be graced with. A combination of what he was already familiar with, then.

“You self lubricate.” He observes, hand trailing along Lotor’s hip. He ignores the heavy gaze that Lotor settles on him. Lance is well aware that his body is a canvas for the things he’s endured, the things he’s survived since being plucked off of his home world just shy of hitting puberty.

“Yes.”

He hums, shifting his weight as he wraps a hand around the larger girth of the cock, working Lotor over as he adjusts himself to slip the head into his throat with some measure of ease.

Most Galra are unfamiliar with the concept of deepthroating- Lotor is no exception to the matter. His breath sucks inward sharply as his hips shift under Lance’s ministrations, claws sinking into the fabric underneath him. A wise choice, considering that Lance would waste no time in removing an offending limb should Lotor try and touch him without consent.

There’s no speaking after that. Lance’s throat relaxes around the thickness of the cock he’s working over, tongue running over the ridges and mentally mapping out what exactly he needs to do to keep the princeling occupied for the foreseeable future. His hand works himself over at the same time, offering some pleasure to keep his brain distracted.

It takes almost no time to coax a first orgasm out of Lotor, release pulsing into his mouth and throat. The prince arches against the sheets with a faint groan, fabric tearing as his claws briefly elongate.

Disappointment graces Lance’s thoughts for only a moment before realizing that apparently, the prince has no refraction period. It doesn’t mean that Lotor is in any frame of mind to know that fact- his eyes are lidded, his frame lax, and there might be the stirrings of a content rumble from his chest.

He must have truly been strung out to be so desperate to not only take Lance up on his offer, but to allow himself to be so vulnerable around the assassin post-orgasm.

Shit.

He’s definitely in too deep now.

Lance chuckles, wasting no time in flipping the prince onto his belly and pressing a hand between his shoulders to pin him there. Nipping at the skin of his shoulder, Lance works his way down, mapping the starburst scars and avoiding several that look to have been made by a whip. Nothing too deep; obviously his position as a prince as a youngling prevented him from anything too severe as punishment. Lance hadn’t been quite so lucky on that front.

“I could take you here.” He muses, digging in a hand in a surprisingly feminine hip. “Or I could pin you to the wall and mark you as mine. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Too on the nose to be considered dirty-talk, and yet Lotor made no move to try and get out from underneath Lance, either.

He worked his suit lower, resting against his thighs and allowing his hard length to spring free. He could see the same soft pink liquid already dripping from Lotor’s hole- self lubrication from both ends, he muses.

Lance lines up the head of his cock with the tight violet skin underneath him, a wanton moan escaping the prince as Lance tests the waters with a long, slow grind against his crack. As if to mock him, Lance’s brain has chosen to ignore their positions, that Lance is in too deep and that he should have been out that door five minutes ago.

And yet here he is.

He slides home into the wet heat with minimal resistance, Lotor letting out a pure Galra noise of satisfaction. Despite Galra being a species in which the females carried young, males had evolved to include lubrication for their own bodies. A fancy trick for those in Zarkon’s armies nowadays.

Thrusting in an easy rhythm, Lotor growls as he pushes back against Lance, presenting himself despite already having a dick in him.

“So needy.” Lance purrs in amusement. “Imagine leaving you bound to your bed with a toy in your ass for hours, none of your soldiers the wiser to your predicament? Aching for someone to relieve you but getting nothing until I return to pin you down.”

Lotor whines, high and reedy, walls clamping down around Lance at the words. The assassin smirks- the prince is too easy to read like this, nearly every wall dropped with the reins handed over to baser instinct.

Orgasm comes quickly, Lance pulsing as deeply within Lotor as he’s able. His hands grip the prince’s waist with bruising potential as he rides it out, waiting only a moment before he’s working to pull his suit back over his naked flesh. There’s something akin to shame crawling under his skin, long buried morals rising to the surface as the endorphin rush gets overtaken by adrenaline.

Lotor is still pushing himself upright to look over his shoulder as Lance locks the clasp of his suit, mask in place over his features.

“I await my next assignment.” He says flatly, fleeing- _exiting_ \- the room.

He was more than in too deep.

He had allowed himself to be vulnerable to someone that he could still possibly be turned on. Someone that could one day easily become his mark.

Fuck.


End file.
